


in harmony of truths and silences

by moranice



Series: Children Of The Sun [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friendly banter, Friendship, Hoth, Lessons in Communication, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 08:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17240660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moranice/pseuds/moranice
Summary: «Hoth is… all right, no description does justice to how unpleasant it is. Even in the confines of the cave air is biting with atrocious chill, and wind is blowing a vile snowstorm inside. Jyn’s ought to be offended at such conditions. But instead she finds herself walking up to Cassian, coming to a halt side by side with him, and remarking matter-of-factly, “We really need to discuss your definition of vacations, spyboy.”Whatever challenges Hoth might have in store for her are worth the light and awe she sees burning intensely in Cassian’s eyes when he realizes that she’s not only safely back from her mission, but that she’s here with him.»Or alternatively: a tale of memories and dreams, an ice planet, and a study in caring, conversations, and touches between two warriors who are learning how to love.





	in harmony of truths and silences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skitzofreak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skitzofreak/gifts).



> A New Year gift for @skitzofreak.
> 
> I'm still slowly working my way through an old prompt I've gotten from you, and one day I'll finally tackle it, I swear. :) But since apparently I'm unable to write something without tons of backstory and staggering wordcount despite my best attempts, I keep getting distracted to work on that instead of the main story. This particular plot bunny has finally conveniently shaped up right for the holiday season.
> 
> Happy New Year and all the best wishes to you!

**╼╼╼╼╼╼  
**

The man in white kindly asks Lyra Erso to take another cave surveying trip. Jyn, busy with assembling a TIE-fighter from wooden pieces of her new construction set in her family’s living room on Coruscant, notices that while mama’s smile is pleasant, the ice in her eyes is cutting.

There’s no refusing the Director of Advanced Weapon’s Research ( _not yet_ ), so mother and daughter pack up and leave for Eilanes in the morning. Galen doesn’t even come home to bid them farewells.

Same as it once was on Alpinn, the minerals the Empire is so thirsty for don’t turn out to be kybers. Jyn isn’t sure why mama looks so relieved about it, but she likes that mama is happy.

When Lyra’s research is concluded, during their last day on the caves she finally takes Jyn’s hand and leads her daughter to the section of the cave that was firmly off-limits for Jyn before. Even despite her best attempts to sneak inside. When Jyn realizes where mama’s heading, she beams and hurries forward. She doesn’t see the love reflected in Lyra’s eyes, but she hears it through the sound of mama’s lively chuckle.

It feels safe. It feels like home even if home is millions of miles away.

(It might be the first time Jyn ever realizes that home is not a place, but a feeling.)

The giant grotto is dim, for no industrial lights were ever allowed to be installed inside of it. Instead light emanates from thousands upon thousands of emerald-hued crystals scattered like constellations of tiny stars upon ebony rocks making up the entirety of the chamber. High rows of seats are carved into the cave, making it a breathtaking amphitheater without a scene.

“The locals call it _Khram Tyshi_. _A Sanctuary of Silence_ in Basic,” Lyra explains, resting her hands on Jyn’s shoulders and cradling her daughter to her legs to keep her from running off to explorations. “People come here to listen to silence, to bask in it, to seek for answers in their own hearts. They don’t have priests or prayers, need no music or chants. They believe that peace is what you seek inside, not something that’s granted to you by the world or other people.” 

Jyn frowns. “But…” she says and scrunches up her face in confusion, “we all are surrounded by the world and other people. There’s always someone to turn to. Even here,” she gestures at seats. The temple is beautiful, but its silence is eerie. Hidden deep down from the outside world, it feels sad and lonely. Jyn doesn’t quite find it scary, but it’s strange, off-putting. It’s clearly designed to let hundreds of people sit side by side. She doesn’t understand why would anyone want to share the temple and yet to seek loneliness in it at the same time.

The galaxy feels infinite to her, full of mysteries, overwhelming at times, but there’s always someone to guide her through it. There’s mama to hold her hand and hold her close when soldiers clad in black armor march through their district. There’s papa to pick her up and hug her and tell her there’s nothing to be afraid of when a storm with lightning and thunder keeps her up at night. “There’s a reason as to why we’re not alone,” murmurs Jyn unsurely, but the words feel strangely right to her. “Why I have you and papa. When I’m with you I’m not afraid.”

“That’s true,” affirms Lyra and rubs her thumb playfully against Jyn’s cheek. “But locals believe that there’s a world inside of us and the world around us. Of course, these worlds collide: every day, every second, every breath you take. But they also believe that the world around us can’t control us. They believe you should only let the world around you compliment you, but never rely on it to complete you. They believe that you’re the strongest when you know: even if you’re alone ― you’ll always find a way.”

Jyn doesn’t quite get it then, but she nods.

Lyra gently pushes and encourages her daughter to move. A small, but steep staircase carved into a slab of stones opposite of the entrance leads them up to the same level with the amphitheater and reveals a―

Jyn refuses to admit that the sight is making her a little nervous, but she tightens her grip around mama’s hand. There’s not a breath of wind inside of the grotto, and the water in the sinkhole separating the cave entrance from the seats is perfectly still and so black that it looks like a pit without end, the edges of its surface marked only by the glow of crystals. The road to the seats is paved by smooth white stones peeking out of the water, their surface only big enough for a human being to stand upon comfortably, the path they build not a straight line, but a haphazard route made up of mostly diagonals and curves.

Lyra crouches to Jyn’s level and squeezes her hand. “Can I ask you to do what I say and trust me, Stardust?” she smiles softly and arches an eyebrow in a way that means it’s a challenge and she’ll be proud if Jyn aces it.

Even as a child there wasn’t a challenge Jyn Erso ever let slipping through her fingers. “Mm,” she hums and curves her lips into a cheeky grin.

Mama brushes her lips against Jyn’s forehead. “That’s my girl. Now you wait.” Then she stands up, darts a quick glance behind her shoulder, and, still facing Jyn, takes two confident steps back upon the stones. The path should be stable ― it doesn’t make sense for it not to be, not when it’s the only way that’s leading up to the seats ― but Jyn still holds her breath.

The stones are steady under mama’s feet.

Lyra adjusts the rucksack’s straps upon her shoulders and looks around. “Locals call it the _Path of Four Mistakes_ ,” she explains, moving her weight to her left leg and circling the edge of a stone with the toes of her right foot. “ _No matter how thick the darkness is, there’s always a path through it, and there’s always light._ ” Winking to Jyn, Lyra gracefully swirls around to face the amphitheater and start walking forward slowly. “ _Not all roads are the shortest way between two points, or easy_ ,” she explains as she follows the uneven curve, “ _but they can lead to something good_.” Halfway through the road Lyra stops, crouches again, and, casting a quick glance at Jyn, dips her hand into the water. “ _Even if you lost your path, there’s always another one you can take._ ” From there she picks up her pace and reaches the far side of the cave quickly, running and jumping over the stones. “It’s your turn, Stardust.”

Jyn walks to the edge where water meets rock. The distance between the stones seems a little daunting to her still annoyingly uncoordinated legs (as much as she enjoys calisthenics lessons and fun they provide, she’s a tiny bit envious of the grace that older kids possess), but it’s a challenge, and the one mama doesn’t seem to be worried about, so she takes a careful step forward, then another and another. Yeah, the way is clearly not designed for kids of her age, but there’s a definite rhythm to it. Once Jyn gets the hang of it, she’s careful in her footing, but confident enough to even make small leaps and accompany each short flight with a happy giggle. “What’s the fourth mistake?” she presses when it becomes clear that Lyra’s holding it back.

“Observant and impatient, aren’t you?” mama chuckles.

“Duh.” Jyn sticks out her tongue.

Lyra slides the rucksack off her shoulders and rests it down upon the rocks. “Well then,” she says cheerfully, comes to the very edge of the rock, and dives into the water. Jyn freezes in place, her mouth agape in surprise. Lyra emerges on the surface almost immediately, laughing and pushing her wet hair out of her eyes. Despite the illusion of bottomless depth, the water only brushes the tops of her shoulders. “So, can you come up with the fourth mistake?” inquires Lyra and flops upon her back, relaxing and trusting the water to hold her up.

(It’s the only swimming exercise Jyn hasn’t gotten the hang of so far in the training pool nearby their house where Lyra’s taking her two times a week.)

Jyn drops down onto her knees upon the slab of stones in the middle of the path, big enough to allow it, and experimentally dips her fingers into the water. It’s surprisingly warm to the touch. It probably explains why it’s hotter in this chamber than in any other section of the cave system. “Um…” Jyn purses her lips and tries unsurely, “is it: _what you see isn’t always what is true_?”

“Very close,” admits Lyra approvingly. “The original saying goes: _even if you’re in despair, it’s not necessarily as deep as it feels_. Come on now, Stardust. Are you planning to stay upon the stones all day?”

It would be a crime to pass a parent-approved opportunity for mischief and swimming in clothes, so Jyn doesn’t. She also doesn’t bother coordinating a perfect dive and instead cannonballs into the water with the biggest amount of splash possible. Mama, now swimming again towards her, reacts with a dramatically-exaggerated eye-roll when Jyn breaks the surface.

It takes a bit of good swimming work to reach Lyra. Jyn chooses efficiency over technique, her movements clumsy and maybe a little overeager, but surely allowing her to cross the distance swiftly. She grins happily when she reaches Lyra and hugs her like a little octopus, arms tight around mama’s neck and legs around mama’s waist. “Is it even allowed to swim here?” she murmurs conspiringly in Lyra’s ear.

“There’s no one here now,” remarks mama playfully. “But it’s a tradition to come here when people feel lost. Who’s to say that the only way to work through whatever bothers you is to simply sit without action, especially when you’re not disturbing anyone?”

Sometime later when they’re both dried up and changed into spare clothing that Lyra had so thoughtfully brought with them to the cave, Jyn walks back from her running all over the amphitheater and stretches out on her side alongside Lyra at the edge of the pool. She doesn’t remember when she started noticing the sadness and agitation in Lyra, but it doesn’t escape her that it seems to grow with every passing day even if mama’s doing her best to mask it when Jyn is around. “Did you come here because you feel lost too?” she asks quietly.

Lyra doesn’t bother either with sentimentality or deflection. As always, she treats her daughter like an equal. “Yes, love,” she admits and hugs her daughter close.

“Is it because of the man in white? And because papa is almost never home anymore?”

“It is.” Lyra runs her fingers through loose, damp locks of Jyn’s long hair. “Don’t worry, Stardust. It won’t always be this way.”

“There’s always a path,” Jyn echoes.

“There is. And we’re going to find it. All of us, together, as a family.”

There’s no reason for Jyn not to believe it.

Not yet.

Her belief will be repeatedly shattered ― on Lah’mu, on Tamsye Prime, for a short time on Eadu before rising up from the ashes to stay ― but these memories and lessons will remain. Such is their burden, and while it can hurt, it doesn’t necessarily always drag you down.

**╼╼╼╼╼╼**

Jyn’s life after Scarif is a maddening fusion of instinctual righteousness and old wounds of uncertainty.

A guarded part of her knows better that the wretched quest for Death Star plans has created a harmonic web of unions, and that it’s so unique and bizarre that surely it can’t survive outside of that insane crusade. But her hope unleashed dares her to find out if something so good can be true, then if it can stay true.

She doesn’t hesitate about her place in the war ― the atrocity that is the Death Star has effectively shattered every protective barrier and instinct she tried so hard to cultivate throughout the years ― but her place in the Alliance and _Rogue One_ is unsteady. She holds on tight to her fears to keep the loudest ones at bay and risks reaching out. They all reach back and meet her halfway.

Now she has Chirrut and Baze to spar with her, and they’re excellent providers of advice in a way that doesn’t make either of them ever come off as patronizing; Bodhi is always there to play a mean round of sabacc with her, or team up with her and gang up on other players together, or he’s there to dutifully improve his hand to hand combat under Jyn’s guidance. Cassian is… Well, she’d fallen into keeping him company and even sharing his bed while they’re both were still in the medbay, then he offered her to use his room once she was discharged, and then ― in a mad display of strange, fragile desire and fear of losing the warmth and safeness of him ― Jyn has climbed into his bed once medics released him from their care. They’ve lived together ever since. She always has someone to keep her company if she wants it, just as they never judge her when she needs some time alone; she’s gotten used to sharing meals with her family: sometimes it’s all of them aboard of the _Home One’s_ cantina, sometimes it’s bringing Bodhi food when he’s too entrenched into fixing yet another sorry rebel ship, sometimes it’s breakfast in bed when Cassian is too exhausted after his morning therapy exercises.

(He never says a word about it, of course, never complains or asks for a break, a survivor and warrior to his core for whom weakness is the biggest sin. But he exhales with relief and Jyn sees immense gratitude in his eyes when she walks with him (or helps him walk, depends on a day and how bad the pain is) back to his quarters, leaves him in the ‘fresher, and by the time he steps into the room again she’s there with food already, saving him a walk to the cantina.)

They all have their ghosts and losses and pain. Each of them is rough around the edges in their own ways; they mirror sometimes, but even when they don’t ― they fit. There’s no putting it another way: Jyn has undeniably found a family in _Rogue One_.

And it’s… it’s perfect, every single day, every single moment of this immeasurable kindness she snatches from the galaxy to store in the most sacred chambers of her heart. But it’s a lot. It’s so much more than she’d known in years, it’s something she avoided because all good things inevitably come to an end.

It scares her. It’s an ugly fear: past pains and insecurities washing up, a dreadful sense of co-dependency showing its crooked teeth and gnawing at her day by day. So far this fear is an afterthought against the canvass of her days, a passing thought she stubbornly banishes. But it’s there, relentless like poison refusing to leave a bloodstream it has conquered, a dark shadow of a constant companion to cast a breath of darkness over the brightest of lights.

It’s a predicament she can’t fight. She doesn’t want to escape it either.

She hasn’t been on a field mission ever since Scarif. Medical had cleared her for duty five weeks ago. She didn’t hesitate to accept her enlistment into Alliance Intelligence (not when it meant forming a team with Cassian, not when it meant keeping their infinite trust, fighting side by side in absolute harmony that feels eternally right, not when it meant having someone to watch her back and having at least a slim opportunity to keep him alive if something ever goes wrong), she didn’t complain when all that Draven assigned her was slicing work and analysis of communications and various data. She eagerly took an opportunity to train other rebels, support staff and rookie soldiers alike.

Jyn knows just how much of a privilege it is, how healthy it is to stay away from a fight for a while, to recuperate after years of being a child soldier, years of scraping by to survive all on her own, after months of grueling labor on Wobani and two crazy weeks of hunting the Death Star plans and nearly dying for it. She’s grateful for it at first, knowing that surely such luxury won’t last.

Somehow it lasts, and her instincts are kicking in hard. And she needs some distance from the sheer amount of change in her life, no matter how much she cherishes it.

When Draven finally gives her a real assignment ― to establish contact with local insurgency on Thesme and evaluate whether it’s feasible to help them overthrow their pirate rulers in exchange for resources and cooperation ― Jyn doesn’t hesitate snatching it even if there’s no end date set to it.

She’s not running. She fully intends to come back. It still feels like tempting her luck when _Rogue One_ bids her farewells and wishes to crush her enemies (Baze is being his charming self as usual), and for a split moment Jyn feels like a child on Lah’mu, wanting nothing else but hold on to her mother’s hand and never let her go. She missed her chance to be so brave and needy once. She doesn’t want to miss it again.

The force of this desire makes her heart clench in a way that’s cutting, that’s leaving her short of breath.

She doesn’t reach out. A soldier going to war again, she leaves.

**╼╼╼╼╼╼**

Two standard months and a week after the battle of Yavin engraved itself into galactic history, Luke Skywalker and his loyal astromech droid stumble upon Hoth. Three days later Alliance High Command apparently decides that the criterion to select a valid candidate for a base of operation they’re lacking ever since the rebellion had to flee from Yavin 4 sounds exactly like ‘ _barely suitable for survival and so miserable that no one in their sane minds wants to live there or assumes that someone can live there_ ’.

Or at least that’s what a rebel rumor mill is complaining about with copious amounts of sarcasm, sighs, and whining.

As far as coincidences go, this particular one is practically perfect from a tactical standpoint: after all, it’s not every day that you have on your hands an Intelligence asset with firsthand knowledge of icy planets and how to covertly establish insurgent bases upon them, a knack for order, impeccable organizational skills and an ability to command authority, a sharp mind, and, lastly, a medical leave that still bans him from field duty.

It’s only natural that the Alliance sends a small team of engineers led by Captain Cassian Andor to Hoth for an in-depth assessment of the terrain and, upon receiving some laughably hopeful feedback, keeps them there to prepare a suitable place of their choice for a new base, and keeps sending reinforcements to make Hoth at least tiny bit more habitable for human beings.

**╼╼╼╼╼╼**

Jyn’s own mission keeps her away from _Rogue One_ for twenty-six standard days.

It’s enough time to find her footing, to carefully sort out her fears and hopes into different boxes and evaluate them, to confirm that while she’s a perfectly capable warrior all on her own, she still very much prefers having her family by her side because even if she’s undeniably strong, their presence elevates her, soothes many sharp edges of hardship the war is full of.

The four of them are nowhere to be found to greet her when she sets her feet back on _Home One_. The sting is nowhere near as hard as it could’ve been: each of them was considerate enough to leave her a message about their ‘business trips’ or ‘vacations’ in due time.

There’s still someone waiting for her in the hangar. Nera Kase ― one of the Alliance’s best technical specialists commanding starfighters and repair crews with grace and authority of a street-raised queen, and these days one of the newest additions into the _Rogue One_ circle after Wedge Antilles, Luke Skywalker, Shara Bey, and Kes Dameron ― waves her hand in greeting and gives Jyn a rapid-fire update on _Rogue One_ crew.

It turns out that Baze and Chirrut are off with Mon Mothma on a diplomatic recruitment mission with some folk who revere the Force; that Jyn has missed Bodhi by a day and he had left on a supply run with his ordnance crew; and that, no surprise to anyone who knows him a tiny bit, Cassian is very busy freezing his ass off on Hoth and had denied a scheduled rotation.

Despite Hoth’s already infamous reputation of a complete and utter kriffing wasteland, receiving her orders to depart there the following night doesn’t sound so bad to Jyn.

**╼╼╼╼╼╼**

For a place barely two weeks old, the Echo Base looks impressive. Its newly installed blast doors are open in an invitation. The cave beyond it is big enough for a not-so-small transport ship to fit it easily and then some. The wires are laid around snow-covered rocks haphazardly, the crates are littering the space in a poorly-controlled chaos, but light is bright and not flickering at all, and heavily bundled up rebels are carrying out their duties in a decidedly precise and efficient way.

As a commander in charge of the Echo Base for now, it’s Cassian who walks into the hangar and greets the arriving rebels. Jyn holds back a little, waiting for most of the fuss and activity to settle. The cargo hatch is open and Cassian’s voice faintly carries inside: he makes sure to politely greet everyone and only then goes back to business, first giving out instructions to supply teams and then directing new people to talk to a local quartermaster.

In a short time it takes Jyn to walk off the transport and into the cave Cassian’s comlink receives a transmission from someone. He brings his wrist close to his mouth and walks to the blast doors, soon staying there for a little while and peeking out into the wilderness of barren ice and snow. Judging by the slight agitation in his body language, Jyn assumes he might be in contact with a scout team and that he’d ordered them to come back to the base before weather gets any worse.

Hoth is… all right, no description does justice to how unpleasant it is. Even in the confines of the cave air is biting with atrocious chill, and wind is blowing a vile snowstorm inside. Jyn’s ought to be offended at such conditions. But instead she finds herself walking up to Cassian, coming to a halt side by side with him, and remarking matter-of-factly, “We really need to discuss your definition of vacations, spyboy.”

Whatever challenges Hoth might have in store for her are worth the light and awe she sees burning intensely in Cassian’s eyes when he realizes that she’s not only safely back from her mission, but that she’s here with him.

**╼╼╼╼╼╼**

Cassian is an infuriatingly good actor when he needs to be. It’s not that Jyn wasn’t aware of it before, but his skills in this regard absolutely blossom on Hoth. Despite the frightening circles underneath his eyes (they look more like bruises at this point) and the tight lines of wear and pain on his face, he spends the rest of the day with energetic fervor. His injuries still keep him away from engaging in any hard physical labor, but it doesn’t stop him from carrying out a variety of duties: he aids electrical engineers with delicate wirework until he can barely feel his fingers just like them and spends some good ten minutes cradling a hot thermos between his palms; he walks around the base and checks in with everyone to find out whether they need a break; he attends to copious amounts of reporting.

Hoth is an environmental nightmare, and it’s definitely sucking up energy from people like a black hole. It’s very easy to tell who of the rebels have been here the longest by their body language and expressions. But even if they’re exhausted, they all regard Cassian with honest respect and continue on with their harsh day-to-day tasks with stubborn inspiration.

Cassian’s limp is barely even there, for Holy Force’s sake. Jyn enjoys the thought, but her relief is very short-lived; the analytical part of her brain kicks in fast and she realizes that the cost of his deceptively improved stride is that he’s walking slower than usual and with much more care, and that he’s doing everything that’s in his power to hide the worst of it, if judging by the way Cassian’s jaw is always tightly grit and his whole body is tense with the gargantuan effort of keeping up pretenses and be an unwavering figure his fellow rebels need to lead them in such wretched conditions.

When night finally falls, most rebels retire to their newly-built quarters in the cave, but Cassian doesn’t come back to his room, Jyn decides that enough is enough and brings a thermos with hot tea into a barren chamber that would soon become Hoth’s main communication hub, but that for now contains only a handful of workstations functioning spottily at best since power outages and connection-interrupting storms are prickly loyal thorns in the Alliance’s ass here. The room’s deserted of people, with one painfully-obvious exception that’s currently slumped over a workstation in a way that does absolutely no favors to his back, one glove-clad hand propping up his chin as he’s reading something from his datapad.

Or, more accurately, _trying_ _to read_. Judging from how Cassian doesn’t even notice her lingering on the doorstep for solid three minutes, his usually sharp regard of his surroundings has dropped to the very rock bottom. Tired of looking at this stoic, stubborn misery, Jyn clears her throat.

Cassian’s twists his head in her direction abruptly, his hand reaching out for the blaster lying at the side of the console on instinct. He recognizes her quickly, though, and halts the motion halfway. “Hey,” he murmurs, his voice muffled by the fabric of a thick scarf that’s wound around his neck and is covering his mouth.

“Hey yourself,” replies Jyn noncommittally and idly twists the thermos in her hand.

Cassian’s gaze lands upon it, then flickers to her face, and then goes back again to the thermos. He rubs the side of his hand against his forehead (a tell-tale sign of tiredness at best, of raging headache at worst) and heaves a sigh through his nose. “I’m not getting a sip unless I leave this room and retire for the night, am I?” he remarks with resignation.

He might be an unnecessarily stubborn fool most of the times in situations like these, but Jyn has to admit that he’s learning. She shrugs and curls her lips into a coy, but slightly tight smile: enough to let him know she’s not angry or trying to guilt-trip him, yet definitely indicating that he’s not being very reasonable now. “Atta-boy.”

Cassian looks back at the datapad, and, even half-concealed by a hood and scarf, his expression is visibly wrecked with black self-loathing and guilt. If workaholism had a physical from, Jyn is willing to bet a good amount of credits that its avatar’s name is ‘Cassian Jeron Andor’.

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s not urgent. You don’t stare at important things absently even if you’re half-dead with exhaustion. And you clearly don’t have the proper energy level or the attention span for this work anymore,” Jyn declares in a voice that’s gentle, but nevertheless refusing to accept any argument. “Come on.”

Common sense ― one. Cassian’s absolutely-uncalled-for hardheadedness ― zero.

Although, Jyn muses as she’s watching Cassian, she’s been too quick in her assessment; it’s more of one to zero-point-five score. He rests his hands against the console’s edge and pushes himself upright with the same stiffness as he used to suffer from during those complicated first days of physical therapy, but he insists on gritting his teeth and walking as proudly as he can, the datapad tucked safely between his ribs and arm. As if Hoth’s cutting cold hasn’t settled along the seams of implants in his spine and pins in his ribs and isn’t gnawing at his still-mending bones. As if the pain in damaged nerves and muscles is merely an afterthought.

Jyn doesn’t have it all figured out. Oh, she wishes she had. Both of them are real pieces of work when it comes to talking about things or dealing with their issues in a decidedly healthy and adult way. She’s bolder and more impulsive, that’s for sure. Her primary instinct is still mostly to head-butt a problem until it backs away and regrets daring to cross her path.

This tactic was pretty solid once, when most of Jyn’s problems could be dealt in such a way. That familiarity was taken away from her when she let her newfound family into her heart and let herself genuinely care about them. Sentient beings and relationships are infinitely delicate and complex. Pushing Cassian can work wonders sometimes, but it’s not always ideal. Pushing is like ripping off a bandage: sometimes it’s a good way to just be quickly done with something, but sometimes it can be too early and careless; it won’t stop healing altogether, but it’ll disturb the wounds, expose them raw again, slow the process down.

Ever since Eadu, ever since Cassian’s deception became clear and they’ve wielded words like daggers to carve each other’s hearts open, Cassian seems to offer Jyn the truth, and Jyn has a distinct feeling that he doesn’t regret it, that he likes it. He even had enough sense in him not to hide his pain and discomfort from Jyn when she was helping him throughout his therapy exercises in the aftermath of Scarif. But the worst of that hardship is faded now, and he isn’t quite lying ― no, he’d tell her the truth would Jyn choose to demand it ― but he’s doing his best to conceal the true nature of his hardship.

The most frustrating part of it is that she can’t even be properly mad about it. She _gets_ it. Of course he doesn’t want either pity or any kind of fuss from anyone; he doesn’t want to be a nuisance; he’s just as used to living his life alone with no support as Jyn is; of course he desires nothing more than to put these injuries past him and do the work the Alliance truly needs him to do.

This knowledge doesn’t make waking up with the haunting image and sound of Cassian falling down the Citadel vault searing through her memory any easier. She tries her best not to dwell on it, but her heart still bleeds with knowing that it happened to him because he believed in her and followed her. It’s not fair, not at all. But it’s true.

Well, he’s not the only one who can be smart and stubborn. Jyn doesn’t move an inch from the doorstep when Cassian stops next to her, and meets his eyes. He looks at her for a solid minute, flicks his gaze down to a somber tint of her mouth. She sees the moment when he gets it, takes a deep breath, and drops the act.

Jyn reaches out and presses her hand against his chest. “Do you know what’s even stronger than an unwavering leader?” Cassian leans into her touch, just a tiny bit, and shifts his weight to his good leg. He looks her in the eyes again, and Jyn knows she’s commanding the entirety of his attention. “It’s a guy who chose to show his vulnerability before the soldiers he had led to a suicide mission. A guy who knew that legends are just stories, but that only mere mortals reshape the galaxy.” She shifts her hand, trails it up until she rests her palm against Cassian’s heart. Curving her mouth into a soft smile, Jyn murmurs, “I’m quite fond of that guy, you see.” And then, with a challenging glint in her eyes and a tiny tilt of her head to the side, she adds, “Would you be so kind to help me find him?”

Cassian is looking at her as if she’s a miracle. Her heart makes a particularly interesting somersault in her chest, quiet fear and shaky excitement weaved together into an intricate skein of emotions. Jyn blinks, startled a little by their sudden proximity. She isn’t quite sure which one of them had moved first, or maybe they both had given in to this unspoken gravity that’s always potent between them, but her entire forearm is resting against Cassian’s chest now and his face is so close that she might be tempted to actually count those stupidly long eyelashes of his.

Her mind scatters back to Scarif, to the kindest moment of that horror show ― to the potent desire to press her mouth against Cassian’s roaring through her bloodstream with staggering righteousness. Her instincts tell her that now would be good moment for it: this kiss won’t taste of rusty blood and frantic desperation, it will be born not of primal need, but of kindling desire.

Jyn has never felt this way about anyone. It’s sharp and thrilling, but her rational mind tells her that she doesn’t know yet how to navigate a change in their relationship. She thinks that Cassian is on the same page as her, but she doesn’t know for sure. And asking feels precarious, dangerous in a completely new fashion. She decides it’s safer to leave things the way they are for now. She arches an expectant eyebrow and tilts her head back a little, willingly surrendering the initiative to Cassian.

The damn scarf is still mostly hiding his mouth from view, but the corners of his eyes faintly curve up to reveal that he’s definitely smiling and that it’s not a bland, fake thing. “I suppose it would be terribly rude of me to refuse,” says Cassian after he clears his throat. Not that it helps to conceal that his voice sounds a tiny bit lower than usual and positively wrecked with emotion.

Jyn nods, satisfied, shifts her hand and gently taps a knuckle against Cassian’s chest.

They fall back into perfect sync without even saying a word. Jyn stuffs the thermos into a spacious pocket of her winter coat; Cassian grips the datapad in his left hand. Jyn turns, he lifts his arm, and she ducks under it to make it easier and let him rest some of his weight against her. Slotted close to each other, side by side, Jyn curls her other arm around Cassian’s back, her palm cradling his ribs, and takes the first step.

His limp comes back in earnest the moment he stops pretending. Thankfully it’s nothing like those first wounded steps he was making during the first week of his recovery after medics let him out of bed, but it’s much worse than it’s been when they’ve parted ways aboard of the _Home One_. Twenty-kriffing-seven days ago at this point.

“I can feel you glaring, you know,” Cassian points out. His breath hitches just a little for a short time he rests his weight on his injured leg, and he adds after, “Even through this fluffy hood.”

“Marvelous.”

“It’s not always this way,” he insists. It’s not overeager, or smooth, or bland. His tone is casual, yet edged with tiredness, with honest exhaustion of someone who should be resting and shouldn’t be freezing in this damn climate, but does it anyway because duty calls. “Mornings somewhat suck, the worst of it fades away as day comes. And, yeah, evenings go downhill from there.”

“So, an eight, a six, and a ten?” clarifies clinically Jyn.

Cassian huffs a bewildered breath through his nose. Jyn is fairly certain it was supposed to be a derisive snort, but he caught himself at the very last moment. “What kind of a scale is that?”

“A perfectly adequate scale, unlike yours.”

He knows firsthand that it’s not an argument he can win, so he stops the futile effort.

Cassian’s room is located far down the corridor, in a tiny space between the rest of the quarters and the chunk of ice so frozen solid that no one bothered to carve it deeper and instead let the cave tunnel naturally curve from here. It prompts a ten-minute walk to the hangar, and a seven-minute one to the communications hub, but this part of the base is private for now, plus it probably gives Cassian a good opportunity to stretch his stiff limbs after waking up upon his way back to his duties.

Jyn lets him go when they stop by the needed door. Cassian leans a little upon the icy wall with his shoulder, careful to keep his weight off his injured leg, and watches with intent how Jyn tugs off her gloves and swiftly keys in the room’s passcode.

“How long did it take you this time?” Cassian asks when the lock chimes. He still looks weary, but with the scarf tugged down, the curve of his fond smile is still a sight for sore eyes.

“Seven minutes,” replies Jyn and strides inside first. “A tricky modification. You’ve stepped up your game.”

“Hmm, my estimation was closer to ten.”

The living quarters are warmer than Echo Base’s frigid corridors and other spaces, but the engineers have rigged the heating systems to work more intensely through the nights. The temperature inside isn’t particularly comfortable, but it allows Jyn to take her hood off without risking frostbite. “I’ve thought it’s going to clock in around four upon my first look,” she admits. It doesn’t sting. Victory is a nice thing and all, but a worthy, smart opponent is a fun challenge that’s hard to come by. “So, a draw?”

“I suppose,” agrees Cassian, the door whooshing close behind him.

Jyn picks up her bag from the piles of blankets neatly arranged upon the bunk and re-locates it to a lone chair in the room without thought, her attention firmly fixed on Cassian. That’s how she catches the exact moment when his expression drops, warmth of their friendly banter washed away by self-conscious unease. He’s regarding the room with a frown and pointedly, uncomfortably doesn’t meet Jyn’s eyes when he murmurs defensively, “I… um, didn’t expect company.”

Frankly, it’s worth a fond laugh ― Force, Cassian really looks as agitated as someone who dared to bring a queen to a hayloft ― but she’s too busy focusing on the way her heart is racing wildly at the implication of such honest care, at his belief that she deserves so much better than a cramped, spartan room barely bigger than a storage closet.

From what she has gathered while she was helping to distribute new blankets and pillows to the living quarters today, most of the rooms on Hoth are designed to accommodate four beings. Two-people rooms are a rarity, and single suites are located the closest to the future communication hub and are likely reserved for Command personnel arrivals. They aren’t fancy either, save for the factor of privacy and slightly more space for maybe a bigger desk, a shelf, or a personal workstation.

However, the walls inside Cassian’s room are well-insulated, the bunk might not be a standard-issue for two persons, but it’s definitely bigger than a single, and there is another door, tucked between the wall and the desk, that might lead to a personal ‘fresher. Each of these things is quite high on Jyn’s comfort list. “Seen worse, slept in worse,” she shrugs, but makes sure to accompany the gesture with a wink.

Cassian relaxes a fraction and busies himself with taking off his gloves. “You haven’t slept on Hoth,” he warns considerately. “You might change your opinion in the morning.”

“I won’t be miserable alone. So, hey, not all bad,” Jyn smirks, and if Cassian doesn’t quite smile to it, it’s close.

She decides to count it as a victory.

Cassian puts his gloves to a small bedstand next to his bunk, then his blaster. Slowly, carefully, he finally sits down, closes his eyes, and exhales with relief. Jyn stares at him when he swipes off the hood, thoughtful and already smug even if she hasn’t voiced her thoughts yet, and it somehow registers with him. He frowns a little, dipping his head back. “What?”

His appearance and fashion choices make him look younger than he usually seems, closer to his real mid-twenties. But she knows from sweet experience just how much more endearing he can look when precise teasing is applied. Jyn grins smugly. “You look like a student on a ski-trip.”

“Nonsense,” Cassian retorts just a touch petulantly, but there’s no mistaking that he’s working really hard to hide a smile out of playful spite.

“The combo of a surprisingly fashionable beanie and scruff says otherwise.”

Cassian glares at her, just a little, in a perfect mix of fond and tiny bit vexed. She clicks her tongue reproachfully, comes close to him, and gently pokes the pad of her index finger to the bridge of his nose. “It kind of suits you. Quit scowling, _grandpa_.” And before he can come up with some sly retort, Jyn picks up her thermos and stuffs it into Cassian’s hands. “I want your opinion.”

Flopping down alongside him on the bunk, Jyn rests her palms beneath her head and settles to watch. It’s ridiculous how Cassian can turn anything mundane into art, but he does. She finds herself enthralled by every little action: the way he unscrews the thermos’ lid with quick, agile motions, the way he scrunches up his nose a little to inhale the scent and determine what it is she’s offering, the way he brings the half-filled cup to his mouth, closes his eyes at the taste, and licks his lips in a very distracting way afterwards.

He turns to face her, his expression lit up with pleasure. “It’s officially the best tea I’ve ever tasted,” he declares, cradling the thermos and the cup in his hands tenderly. “Is this from some new supplies?” Cassian inquires with no small amount of hope.

Jyn decides that this simmering feeling of pride is utterly pleasant and she wants more of it. “It’s a gift from Thesme. They have many plantations of red tea there, and some unique fruits and berries. It’s their rebel leader’s family recipe.”

Cassian nods and takes another sip, unhurried, relishing the taste. Jyn holds a measured theatrical pause and remarks innocently, “I might’ve negotiated an exclusive import deal with a mean discount. The quartermaster back on the _Home One_ seemed very impressed.”

Cassian is smiling. Happy and all, with those thrice-damned dimples on display. It’s enough to undo a part of Jyn’s rationality, to shatter it in the kindest, gentlest of ways possible. She doesn’t even process the words fully as they rush for freedom, instinctive and somewhat damning, “Does this make your night better?”

Unconcealed surprise flashes through Cassian’s eyes. A taste of fear and awkwardness crashes into her; she bites her tongue instinctively, chastising herself for such clumsiness. She’s not going to run, and the words feel right because they’re true, because he deserves someone caring for him this way, but it’s just so…

Why is it so hard to talk when it matters and about things that matter? Why does she feel so fundamentally out of balance when the ground has never been firmer under her feet?

Cassian puts the thermos away on the bedstand, shuffles a little closer, and rests his hand atop of Jyn’s knee. It’s a simple touch, no fiery intent behind it, just reassurance and a balancing act, a broadcast of gentle, undemanding presence. He’s looking into the cup he’s holding in his free hand, a crude mirror of Jyn’s own unease, but there’s no mistaking the sincerity in his tone when he murmurs a little breathlessly a quiet revelation, “You always do.”

And just like that Jyn knows she’s home.

**╼╼╼╼╼╼**

As time will tell, there are literally only two positive things any rebel on Hoth can say about the planet: it’s so much of a frigid slum that the Empire doesn’t assume anyone can hide here ( _for now_ ); when the heating’s up and running there’s a close to endless supply of hot water in the ‘freshers.

Sure, there’s always that unpleasant minute of undressing and exposing your skin to Hoth’s chill, but water turns almost scalding in a matter of a couple of seconds; by the time you step out of the shower, the steam swirling in a tiny ‘fresher space keeps the temperature pleasantly warm for a little while.

The best tactic, Jyn learns on her very first night on Hoth, is to wait before Cassian goes to the ‘fresher first and enjoy the perks of an already heated up room when it’s her turn. The sensation of hot water trickling down her skin is a delight, and she allows herself an immeasurable luxury of simply standing under the spray for a span of good three minutes, enjoying the warmth spreading through her body and melting Hoth’s persistent chill.

She might feel at home with Cassian the way she’s never been before, but it doesn’t mean that she’s free of an uphill battle with many challenges waiting for her ahead. Jyn does her best to think of what she has to say, of what she’s going to say for a good fifth time now as she scrubs herself clean, but neither of the phrases sounds quite right. She knows what she has to do. Yeah ― she’s stupidly nervous, yeah ― it’s annoying because her decision is utterly practical, and yeah ― there’s a shadow of a sinking feeling in her gut that she might be overstepping.

In the end, Jyn gives in to her instincts and decides to head-butt the damn problem. She puts on her underwear and a sleep shirt that leaves her arms bare, rolls a pair of warm socks up her feet and steps into her boots, wraps her winter coat around her shoulders and chest, picks up the rest of her warm gear, and walks out of the ‘fresher.

The expression of pure shock mingling with horror in Cassian’s suddenly comically wide eyes (who’s burrowed under three layers of blankets and has them thrown as high as up to his nose) when he spots a not-so-small strip of bare legs revealed between the tops of her boots and the hem of her coat is absolutely priceless.

She thinks of mercy in that split moment of hesitation and uncertainty striking back hard, but she remembers the way Cassian had carefully regulated his breathing as they walked to his, no, _their_ quarters to endure the pain, she knows he’s likely not getting much sleep either, and decides that it’s worth the risk. They’re used to sleeping together now, after all, used to share a bed and comfort each other when nights are bad and full of ghosts old and new. It’s foolish to get agitated and back away from it because of some bare skin.

So Jyn resolutely looks Cassian straight in the eyes when she declares, “Clothes off.” She’d seen him reveal a rich variety of emotions at this point, but to see his eyebrows climb up his forehead so rapidly is very new. It’s amusing, but only until her mind swiftly catches up with all the potential meanings her words hold, and a mix of hysterical joy, sinking dread, and giddy excitement does some very funny things to her heartbeat and the pit of her stomach. Her witty grace comes to the rescue, and Jyn hastily amends, “Ok, reboot first. Then take your pants and sweater off.”

Judging by the way Cassian narrows his eyes, but otherwise holds himself very unnaturally still, it doesn’t make things any better. She can curse all she wants at her stupid tongue, but the words she had already freed are not hers to command and take back anymore. Besides, she decides that she doesn’t particularly trust this strange, foreign feeling of both shy and mirthful heat lamely creeping up her cheeks, and that Cassian would probably appreciate some privacy, so Jyn politely turns away to set him at ease as much as she can.

The force of the reaction surprises her and confuses her. Really, she should be immune to it by now. Kriff it all into a sarlacc pit, she’s seen him shirtless. Not just that, she rested her fingers against his bruised and scarred skin to apply bacta gel because somewhere along the way Cassian has decided that he could handle showing his vulnerability to her and because he hates medics poking at him almost as fiercely as he hates the Empire. She knows the shape of his arms and hands from helping him through exercises, she’s almost fully memorized the outline of muscles in his back from those few times when he’d felt so stiff and miserable and in so much pain (that of course he resolutely prefers to endure without proper painkillers) that he didn’t seem to hesitate much when he shrugged his shirt off, lain down on his stomach, closed his eyes, and trusted her inexperienced, but eager to learn and help hands to work out the worst of the knots and tension from his back.

This feels different. It shouldn’t. It’s not as if she’s planning to climb into his bed half-naked and cuddle for fun; she simply wants him to be warm and maybe, if the galaxy decides to be kind, wake up in the morning without feeling like his back is locked in a vise.

(Come think of it, the idea of fun actually does appeal to a not so dormant, horny part of Jyn’s brain she’s been doing a mostly good job of decisively ignoring for these past few weeks.

She’s not completely new to sex. It’s even been great at the past ― those only, exploratory couple of times with a partner who’d been respectful and focused on her pleasure, who made sure she didn’t regret it at all ― but it’s been so long ago. The feeling tied to Cassian is completely novel. It’s so much more like emotion than physical attraction and curiosity, more like a need to explore and connect than a basic urge to reach a release.

It’s absolutely nothing like those rare times when she felt safe enough or untroubled enough to actually remember that her body has certain needs and enjoys them quite a lot, dip her fingers beneath her navel, and quickly unwind the sweet pleasure with her clever, knowing hand.

Jyn doesn’t know how to approach something so thrilling and yet seemingly so fragile, so she deems it safer to try to not even think about this for now.)

She blows a very quiet, somewhat irritated breath through her mouth, and sets to neatly organize her clothes atop of the table in order to bide some time. A skittish part of her is already knee-deep in regretting the boldness she applied to the situation and is half-expecting to be asked to leave, but there comes a faint sound of blankets sliding against each other. Jyn relaxes marginally. More sounds follow: a slow and careful shifting of clothing, then a slightly different tune of bare skin sliding against the bedsheet.

Jyn keeps her eyes firmly at the intricate pattern of her woolen sweater until Cassian calls for her, quietly and unsurely, “Can you grab these?” She swirls around just in time to catch a glimpse of his bare chest before he hastily grabs the blankets and pulls them high up to his neck to shelter himself from the cold. His hand is peeking out from the warm safety of blankets just enough for his clothes to be in sight.

She smiles a little ― Cassian’s relationship with cold is always amusing ― and arranges his pants and warm sweater with the same care that he’s dedicating to keep all his clothes neat. A fond look in his eyes is a good enough reward for it.

Well, it seems like there’s no need to keep freezing since she’s obviously not getting kicked out of the room. Jyn licks her lips nervously, then shrugs off the coat and drapes it over the chair. She knows the weight of Cassian’s gaze upon her very well by now, how it seems to encompass her and feel almost like a caress, how sometimes it can morph into raw, electric emotion that thrills her and makes her feel welcomed and revered in a way she’s never knew before, never even thought it possible. It’s nowhere to be found now. Biting the inside of her cheek in disappointment and willing her mind away from it, Jyn turns back to him and notices that Cassian’s gaze is firmly focused upon the wall, polite in not wanting to intrude. His jaw seems tense again, but it’s different from his expressions of pain, alarm, or discomfort. It’s something else, something new, something infinitely complicated.

The room’s chill is raising goosebumps on Jyn’s skin, and she doesn’t feel particularly comfortable to be so exposed to it, but she stops by the bunk and takes a moment to lay her arm against Cassian’s shoulder through the blankets. “Hey,” she murmurs. Words flash through her mind in a messy web of meanings ― _it’s just me; I’ll never push you to do something you don’t want, I promise; I wish you’d look at me_ ― but she’s not ready to say either of them, not sure what she needs to say the most. Instead she simply checks in, “Is this okay?”

Cassian’s eyes linger neither on the bare skin of her thighs, nor at the shape of her breasts. He trails his gaze up in obvious haste as if he’s sure no one gave him any right to look anywhere else but into her eyes, nods, and affirms verbally as well to reassure her, “Yes.” 

As Jyn wriggles out of the boots and leaves them discarded by the bed, Cassian settles to lie down on his right side. This, at least, brings the air of familiarity into the suddenly keyed-up atmosphere between them: this position is easier on Cassian’s back, plus he’s facing the only entrance to the room this way; Jyn gets to enjoy the safeness of having her back turned to the safety of the wall and Cassian’s frame sheltering her from the door. She flicks the light off and slides under the covers, closing her eyes in relief for a moment: it’s not ideal, but it’s sufficiently warmer than the air in the room, and the sensation of Cassian’s body heat so close to her is alluring in the plainest of ways.

Sharing a bed with someone, Jyn has learned lately, is a bit of a logistical challenge, but even if they’re tense and this feels unnecessarily sharp, they both know what to do almost on instinct now. Jyn settles on her side as well, sneaking her hand under both hers and Cassian’s pillows. Cassian wriggles a little, sliding lower so that his head rests on the very edge of his pillow. Jyn squeezes her eyes shut, chiding herself for feeling so self-conscious and nervous when it’s her idea in the first place and it’s totally kriffing reasonable because body heat is a rational necessity in such circumstances, and huffs another resentful breath through her nose.

Cassian blindly finds her hand under the pillow and brushes the backs of his fingers against her palm. “I did say it’s all right,” he whispers lightly. When Jyn slots her fingers against his and curves them, he takes a deep breath, and admits in an even quieter tone, “And, yeah, I’m tired of waking up all cold and aching.”

Honesty and trust are one of the kindest, sweetest things one person can share with another. They don’t quite work miracles, don’t quite make this new, precarious situation easy, but they help to blunt its prickliest edges. Slow and measured in her movements, Jyn slots her body against Cassian’s, and does her best not to dwell on how much more pleasant and warm his bare skin feels without the barriers of their usual layers of clothing, or on the clean, absolutely medicine-less scent of him that fills her senses so enticingly when she rests the tip of her nose to the nape of his neck.

His body is still tense against her, and Jyn can feel him measuring his breaths with great care, unsure if this is caused more by their proximity or the trouble his back is giving him, but even if there’s worry knotting her heart into thousands of strings, she trusts Cassian’s judgement and consent. So she presses one foot against his calf, tucks her other leg in between his, and slides her arm under his, resting her palm against his chest and cradling him a little tighter so that there’s barely any space left separating their bodies.

It takes him some time to relax, but Jyn feels the moment the stone-like stiffness in his back and shoulders unwinds. He practically melts against her with a quiet, almost secret-like content sigh. “Thanks,” Cassian says in a voice that’s somehow both hoarse and delicate, like he doesn’t quite trust it. His hand is unsure as he’s drawing a tender, shaky caress up Jyn’s forearm, and this hesitant affection is definitely maddening for them both, so Jyn kicks the caution down from a metaphorical windowsill and responds by pressing her mouth against the vertebrae of his neck. She doesn’t turn it into a bold kiss, simply keeps her lips sealed in a reassuring touch and doesn’t lean away.

 _I get it, you’re not alone_ , it means, and she thinks that Cassian understands, given how his palm covers her hand, his fingers curving and pressing her hand against his chest in a slightly greedy, proprietary kind of way.

They lie in silence like that for a while, Cassian’s breathing deep and calm, but his heart still racing just as Jyn’s, neither of them minding that this secret echoes against each other’s skins. Jyn almost dozes off, but Cassian suddenly starts drawing idle patterns with his fingertips against the back of her hand, exploring in the darkness the shape of it, the scars littering the ridges of her knuckles, the expanse of her each finger from the thin bones starting at her wrist and to the very tips of her trimmed nails.

His hand feels unfairly gentle despite the rough life he’d led and warrior’s callouses left behind by it, even the lightest, most infinitesimal of touches striking in their tenderness and leaving trails of fiery heat wherever they touch Jyn’s skin. Her heart’s definitely speeding up, a heady, potent thump echoing seemingly in every cell of her body, and her breathing is stuttering a little: in the quietness of the night, in the strangely comforting darkness filled with gentle heat and Cassian, her skin feels oddly sensitive and his every touch feels amplified. She gasps softly when Cassian slowly caresses his fingertips along the knobby bone of her wrist and up to the widest part of her hand, startled by the power of sensation, by an odd ghost of electric pleasure simmering on her skin long after Cassian moves on. He shivers against her, feeling her breath curve lovingly down his neck, and his own breath hitches a little in response.

She feels light. She feels giddy. She feels… happy and safe and so at home it would be overwhelming if it didn’t feel so perfect, if she didn’t feel Cassian mirroring her own reactions.

He rests his palm against hers for an idle moment, and Jyn uses the opportunity to twist her hand and run her fingertips in her own exploration. Life and luck have definitely been kinder to his hands than to hers, but he had picked up a fair share of marks too: a couple of faint brawl scars scattered across his knuckles, small silver lines of various cuts, imperceptible to a touch and barely visible even under bright lights across his fingers. But there’s an obvious one: a thin scar running down the expanse of Cassian’s left palm, curving like an additional natural line at the side.

(She’d spent a fair amount of time in the medbay while Cassian’s been either unconscious or asleep. Staring at his hands somehow felt more appropriate than staring at his face.)

Jyn taps a gentle finger against the slightly raised skin on his palm. “Where’s this one from?” she asks casually, trying to convey that she doesn’t demand an answer.

“I’ve been scouting an Imperial-controlled planet for a while. They had a military outpost there, several bases, stuff like that. And we’ve been somewhat desperate for resources.” Cassian’s shoulder twitches in a tiny version of a shrug. When he settles back, Jyn hooks her chin over it, resting the side of her face against his neck. “So while a team of Pathfinders had been busy preparing an ambush on a smaller base to cut their forces and steal supplies, I was supposed to sneak at their most fortified base on the planet and cause a series of huge distractions.”

“To draw away reinforcements to the main base and clear the way for the real show,” she muses, her mind running through the tactical assessment of the situation. Jyn stumbles immediately onto a particular topic, biting her tongue on instinct before she can blurt it out.

The matter is… sensitive. Even if Kay is not completely gone, even if Cassian had his personality matrix and programming backed up on the regular basis, there’s no readily available KX-series body on the Alliance’s hands, and those damn things are near-impossible to catch and reprogram. It would involve some copious and very tricky amount of programming work to adapt Kay’s software and port it, but it’s doable. However, that is out of the question. Baze made a mistake of suggesting it once (out of kindness, seeing how fiercely Cassian’s been missing his grumpy friend), and Jyn’s never seen Cassian look at someone with the same amount of cold outrage, contempt, and raw betrayal as in that moment.

To both her surprise (at his desire to poke at the painful point) and not (she has no idea how in the world they often rhyme so much in everything, but she likes it), it’s Cassian who explains, “It would’ve been very handy to have Kay with me, but he’d been even more help to the Pathfinders, so he’d gone with them.” His body doesn’t go quite rigid at the mention of Kay, but it’s close, and he’s speaking a tiny bit faster than normal, rushing to get this out of the way. She rests her lips against the juncture where his collarbone meets his shoulder and twines her fingers through his, squeezing reassuringly. Cassian sighs, whatever tension he’d harbored sagging along with it.

“The facility’s been located atop of a mountain spire, no roads way up without tight control. I’ve been sneaking around through the forest away from the paths, but in the end there was no other choice but to climb the spire itself. Things were good, up until rain started pouring out of nowhere. A torrential downpour, close to what’s been happening on Eadu,” he says, his voice dropping at the last part of the sentence and brimming with the apology for all the horror and heartbreak that happened there and that he’ll never be able to mend.

Jyn closes her eyes and imagines a fracture spreading along the seams of a cave in her mind. It cracks and a giant boulder falls, slamming the rattling hatch with her dark memories without mercy. She’s only human, so some echoes and images sneak away, but she chooses not to dwell on them and focuses on the twin, harmonic feeling of hers and Cassian’s heartbeats thumping against her ribcage and skin. “Ugh,” she mutters and wrinkles her nose with sympathetic disgust.

“So, ah, after a few very close calls, naturally I had to be almost at the top when I’ve finally slipped on the wet rocks,” reveals Cassian. “Barely caught myself before plummeting down. Sliced my hand open across one of the sharp rocks I’ve tried to hold on to.” He pauses, flexes his hand against Jyn’s, and huffs an ironic breath through his nose. “You’d think that climbing back like that would be unpleasant, but it turns out that bleeding all over inside a stolen, snugly fit stormtrooper glove later is infinitely more disgusting.”

While Jyn might be bolder, it has to be admitted that Cassian has his fair share of bravery when dealing with certain uncomfortable things. It may also be a testament to his slightly grim sense of humor, but he waits a beat, and when Jyn doesn’t say anything, he turns his head a little, brushing his chin atop of the crown of Jyn’s head. “Seriously? No biting remark about sensing a pattern here? How are you letting such an opening slip away?”

Busted. Jyn rolls her eyes and nags the inside of her bottom lip with her teeth. “I’ve thought of it,” she admits, since there’s no point of hiding it, and since the whole core of this relationship is that they feel safe enough revealing things to each other they’d otherwise prefer to conceal. “But I didn’t want to remind you out loud,” Jyn adds, twisting her fingers out of Cassian’s grip and, blindly yet without even a marginal error, resting her palm against neat, now mostly silvery scars across his ribs: yet another marks that Scarif had carved open on his skin by a surgeon’s steady hand.

“Appreciate it. But, ah, I think Chirrut’s right about this. It happened, and there’s no changing the past. I might as well stop trying to pretend that avoidance is making some things any easier. And since ignoring the thing doesn’t work, I guess I should try to maybe beat it with humor.” Cradling Jyn’s hand by his again as if this touch is a lifeline he’d rather not let go of (she hides a smile against his skin in response), Cassian mentions in a slightly cheeky tone, “Just to make things clear and avoid any confusion: I’m an excellent climber.”

Sensing that the mood’s not as gloomy as it could be and makes a ripe ground for teasing, Jyn snorts.

“What? It’s true. Everyone’s shit at it when the surface is wet and slippery, and when people don’t miss when they shoot at you.”

“Mm, Captain Obvious.”

Cassian’s body trembles with quiet laughter. He rests his head back against the pillow, his hand curving a little against Jyn’s fingers. After a few minutes of peaceful silence, he’s the one to be brave again. “I’d say it’s nice to have you here, but…” he confesses, trailing off a bit at the end. Jyn pokes her toes into his calf meaningfully, and he sighs. “But Hoth is a miserable hell-hole,” Cassian gives up, but somehow makes it sound like a weary fact and not like a petulant, outraged complaint other rebels hiss through tightly grit teeth, even if Jyn’s sure the place’s cold hurts him the most, not to mention the likely mental discomfort from Hoth’s resemblance with Fest and everything that Cassian’s homeworld means to him and took from him. “So…” he takes a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever he’s trying to say, and reveals, “it’s just really good to see you.”

“Do you have another set of eyes that I don’t know about? Cause that would explain a lot,” she teases, because passing up another opportunity is lame, but mostly because she busy chasing her own courage.

“ _Jyn_ ,” Cassian drawls in a unique combination of fondness and exasperation.

And just like that, her hesitation’s defeated. She props herself up on her elbow just enough to brush her nose against Cassian’s temple and whispers into his ear a revelation she’s making for the very first time in her adult life and which’s coming from the very depth of her heart, unfiltered and sincere beyond measure, “I know. I’ve missed you too.”

It’s Cassian who guides her hand to rest against his heart and lets her know skin to skin what her words are doing to him. That’s the way Jyn falls asleep: lulled into slumber by their shared heat, the rhythm of Cassian’s breathing and pulse, and just a little drunk with heady hope.

**╼╼╼╼╼╼**

Jyn doesn’t recall each and every nightmare that plagues her.

But some slash her heart to shreds, bleed her soul dry, and stay with her: not in their entirety, with bits and pieces muted or drained of sense like a maligned ancient film tape, but with the most hurtful moments preserved in acute detail.

**╼╼╼╼╼╼**

_Lyra Erso chooses her daughter instead of her husband. Lyra holds Jyn’s hand as they hurry up out of the backdoor of their house on Lah’mu, and she doesn’t let go when they stop to look back at Galen._

_Lyra doesn’t drop to her knees, doesn’t unwind her kyber necklace, and she doesn’t say, “Trust the Force.” Little Jyn looks at her father shaking the man in white’s hand and doesn’t quite understand the sinking feeling that settles in her stomach like a messy coil of writhing snakes wrought from ice itself._

_Lyra takes her little hands in hers and crouches before her daughter. “All he’s doing is to protect you, Stardust. You need to understand it. You need to remember it.”_

_Jyn nods, the chill in her gut refusing to wither away. She doesn’t understand it. Her little heart already craves a fight and somehow, someway it knows the pain that comes with betrayal, with people leaving her for the sake of some mystical, deceitful greater good._

_It’s a mother and a daughter who hide in the tiny, cramped cave underneath the rocks. The daughter sits in mama’s lap, a flickering lantern clutched in her palms. The mother has one hand weaved around her child protectively, but in her other hand she holds a blaster, her grip firm and sure._

_When Saw Gerrera arrives a day later, he finds two warriors in the cave. Neither of them knows it yet, but he finds a family broken beyond repair, torn apart by a complex tangle of love and protectiveness that will fester and turn to sour poison._

**╼╼╼╼╼╼**

_Lyra Erso learns everything she can from Saw Gerrera, but she refuses to give up any information on her husband._

_Lyra rises through Partisan ranks, Saw’s respected second in command. It’s Lyra who keeps order, Lyra who keeps the connection with the Alliance alive._

_It’s Lyra who’s the heart and soul of this little rebellion, Lyra who spends as much time training and planning as she does with people who fight the bloody battles with the Empire, Lyra who helps guide orphaned teenagers (whom Saw picks up from time to time for their fierceness, need to fight, and unwavering loyalty) through both the war and all the other things such as their education, their first loves, and their nightmares as best as she can._

_It’s Lyra who forbids the best soldier in Saw’s cadre from making a difference with her weapons and fists, Lyra who keeps Jyn rooted in place, insisting on keeping her daughter safe and teaching her how to orchestrate the war from the sidelines, how to work with information._

_It’s Lyra who spends hours upon hours grasping at straws, following the tiniest, most obscure signs that might lead her to Galen and some secret project the Empire’s been working on._

_It’s Lyra who refuses to give up, Lyra who still believes that Galen didn’t abandon them willingly, Lyra who still loves her husband._

_It’s Lyra who cuts ties with Saw Gerrera after he goes too far, Lyra who takes a quarter of his allies with her and goes to Jedha, Lyra who watches her daughter with indescribable pain in her eyes when Jyn chooses to stay by Saw’s side._

_“The Empire will never crumble if you’re the one who leads the fight against it,” Jyn tells her and turns away, her heart aching with rage and sick of being constantly held behind like a princess in a high tower._

_It’s Lyra whose tears are spilling. And yet it’s Lyra who physically walks away._

_She leaves the kyber crystal in her daughter’s room._

**╼╼╼╼╼╼**

_Jyn doesn’t believe in fate, but it doesn’t keep fate from mocking her._

_She’s the fiercest and most loyal warrior, but in the end Saw still leaves her in a cave with a knife, a blaster, and yet another broken promise to add to her already unfairly huge tally._

_She doesn’t relent and she fights alone. She does her best to be kinder than Saw, yet bolder than her mother. She does her best not to repeat the mistakes they’ve made. Through careful planning and elaborate attacks, through long nights of coding and slicing, through lost sleep, blood, sweat, and hardship Jyn lives off the Empire’s own resources and finds little breaches in its armor to gut it open, make it reel, and whisk away uncaught._

_She’s great at this. She’s almost legendary._

_And yet, there’s no war that’s ever been won solitarily._

_Her biggest mistake leaves her with a vibroblade between her ribs in a dark alley, and no time or strength to get away before a patrol passes the street. The last thing she sees before passing out is a skull-like dark brown helmet. In the murk of the night it looks black. It reminds her of the troopers who escorted her father away._

_Jyn wakes up to the world of pain, the acrid smell of cheap medicine, dirt, and metal, and shackles around her wrists and ankles. A worn medic wearing gray regards her with pity, “You’re a resilient one.” Coming closer, the woman shakes her head and lets Jyn on a secret, “You’d wish you didn’t fight for life so hard.”_

_The smell of dirt and desperation soon will become the least depressive description of Wobani that Jyn has ever come up with._

**╼╼╼╼╼╼**

_Lost in the darkness of her crumbled hatches, buried underneath the pain she fought so hard to suppress and ignore for years that’s broken through and is devouring her without mercy, Jyn doesn’t realize that Lyra Erso is crying together with her as they both watch Galen’s holo-recording in the Catacombs of Cadera._

_Too angry and betrayed to see clearly, then too wounded to focus on anything past the devastating void reigning in her chest, Jyn finally truly sees her mother when Cassian grabs her wrist and urges her to escape from the crumbling ancient monastery._

_Still, she whispers a hopeless, childish, “Come with us.”_

_Lyra shakes her head and leans upon her staff when a violent coughing fit nearly sweeps her off her feet. Dressed in the robes of Guardians of the Whills, the red sash unnaturally bright in the dim alcove, she once would’ve cut an impressive figure._

_As is, she’s thin and frail, her dark eyes paler than they have ever been. She looks older than her years, something devouring her from inside and taking precious time away without mercy._

_“It’s my time, love. I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my welcome as is,” Lyra tells her, paying no attention to the storm at the horizon visible through once beautiful, now shattered stained glass windows, and choosing instead to look at her daughter for one last time. “Save the rebellion. Save the dream. Save Galen.”_

**╼╼╼╼╼╼**

_Jyn cradles her dying father in her arms, and his only words are nothing more than a hoarse whisper of regret and disappointment._

_“You didn’t believe in me, Stardust,” breathes out Galen Erso with the last vestiges of life, and the mournful scream that tears out of Jyn’s chest is a thing that’s frightening and desolating in its agony._

**╼╼╼╼╼╼**

_The war is won, but the problem with the wars is that they never quite end ― they echo and keep sending a myriad of scathing ripples throughout histories galactic and personal alike._

_It’s easier to deal with fierce remnants of the Empire: the remains of their resistance are like an extension of the war, something that needs to be met with force. It’s just a continuation of the path a soldier treads upon. It might not be kind, but it’s familiar. In a way it’s a broken home, but a home nevertheless._

_The chaos of new rule and history being weaved before their eyes is frightening. It’s full of uncertainty, of exhaustion, of small mistakes that might pile up and destroy the shaky foundation the new government is trying so hard to build._

_The sharpest thing, though, is that ghosts refuse to fade away, and no victory and no time seem to make it right._

_It’s Cassian who suggests they should try to confront the fears and baggage they’ve been trying to avoid for so long. It’s Jyn who suggests they should go to Lah’mu first, since starting from a planet barely warmer than Hoth sounds like an exquisite kind of torture to her._

_She doesn’t expect anything, but it surprises her a little that her grief and anger don’t grow all jagged and cutting upon seeing the charred remains of Erso homestead. The half-scarred wounds in her heart feel steady, emanating the same echoes of pain as they’ve always been._

_What surprises her a lot is that while Lah’mu is a source of painful memories, it’s also a source for making new ones. It’s not a place she’ll ever think of settling down at, but it’s beautiful and worth sharing with someone for a little while._

_The beach Jyn used to run upon when she was a child is nothing like Scarif. The ocean murmurs softly, the water’s scent is fresh and clean, and there’s no war raging for miles and miles of charcoal-colored sand stretching along the coastline._

_Standing ankle-deep in the water and burrowing her toes into the sand, Jyn is not afraid of closing her eyes and listening to the world around her. Especially when Cassian’s arms are cradling her tight to his chest as he embraces her from behind and rests his chin atop of the crown of her head._

_It’s the distant roar of engines that plucks her out of idyllic comfort. Her heart sinks, painfully and nauseously, when a familiar predatory shape of an Imperial shuttle roars above and pushes past them, the calm waters of the ocean morphing into a tiny storm in its wake._

_Neither of them thinks of rushing to safety of the old hideout in the caves. It’s not even the distance that’s a problem ― it’s their warrior instincts. After everything they’ve been through running away from the revenants of the Empire feels like a betrayal. They rest their foreheads together and brush their mouths against each other. It’s not a kiss, rather an exchange of sorrowful breaths, a quiet moment of peace they allow themselves before they curl their fingers around the blasters they still wear against their thighs and part to throw yet another fight._

_Jyn freezes in place as if seized by invisible hands as she watches a death trouper entourage emerge from the shuttle and set the stage for their leader’s arrival. The edge of his once blinding-white cape is grimy, the charred hole in his shoulder so fresh that there’s still a whisk of smoke curling up from it._

_Cassian empties the entire power pack of his blaster, but neither of the shots slows down the man in white as he keeps on with his stride, oblivious to the devastating damage his body’s been put through by the deadliest sharpshooter in the rebellion._

_The scenery reshapes between Jyn’s eyes like pieces of an eerie kaleidoscope falling into place. When Orson Krennic raises his blaster and shoots, it’s Cassian who crumbles into the mud and high grass before Jyn’s home and doesn’t get up._

_Spellbound by the horror, Jyn watches the man in white come up to her and shake his head chidingly. “Oh, you silly little thing,” he spells out slowly, his smile cutting like the sharpest of knives. “How many times do you need to learn that you can never hold on to anyone?”_

_He leans closer and runs the backs of his fingers against her temple. “I’ll always be here,” he croons and bends his head so he could whisper in her ear, “and there’s nowhere you can run from it.”_

**╼╼╼╼╼╼**

It’s the sensation of arms cradling around her protectively that rip away Jyn from the nightmare and bring her back into reality. She gasps for air with desperation, feeling lightheaded in the darkness weaved around her. The sensation of warmth and safeness dissipates… or rather drifts away, and she clutches Cassian’s arm in panic.

“Shh, I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs and presses his hand against her stomach, giving her an anchor to focus upon. “You’re safe, Jyn. Breathe.”

Despite the overload of emotions and fears wreaking havoc through her mind, the rational part of Jyn’s brain catches up with a very notable lack of oxygen and kicks in to fight against it. A slow, agonizing, and shaky breath by breath the worst of the storm simmers down. She sags onto the mattress, worn and spent, a sickly sheen of cold sweat feeling disgusting on her skin. Squeezing her eyes shut, Jyn grimaces at the sandpaper soreness in them and at the salty taste of tears on her lips. The memories linger in the darkness, and she finds herself shivering in the aftermath. 

“Come here,” whispers Cassian, nudging his nose against her temple and resting his palm against her hip.

She’s too tired and reeling to protest, not when he’s so warm, and gentle, and safe, not when he sounds like her discomfort pains him on a visceral level but he refuses to run away and leave her alone with it, and it’s so pointless to hide because this is not the first time either of them had woken up so unhinged and found shelter in each other’s arms, so Jyn willingly lets Cassian draw her close.

After a round of careful shifting, he ends up lying on his back with one leg canted at the knee and Jyn sprawled upon his chest, stretching her lower body against his side, hip, and leg. He lets her weave her arm under his neck, curl her other under his shoulder, rest her face between his collarbones, and he chooses not to push. He settles one hand at the small of Jyn’s back, cradles the back of her head with another, and simply twines his fingers through her hair for a while, giving her all the time in the world she needs to recover.

It’s the gentleness of Cassian’s touch and the echo of his heartbeat reverberating against her body that destroys the last ghosts of her nightmare and coaxes them back into the dusty dark pit where they belong.

“It’s been worse today, isn’t it?” he asks carefully, curling his hand and mapping out the vertebrae of Jyn’s spine with a tender caress of his knuckles. The warmth of his touch works wonders against the chill, soothes the last shivers still tremoring through her body.

“Mm,” Jyn mutters at first, trying out the sound of her own voice. It’s a small relief, but still, it doesn’t seem like she’d been screaming herself hoarse. “I’ve never seen this one before.”

When she doesn’t elaborate further, Cassian doesn’t demand details yet again. He may be inelegant with piercing honesty, unused to wield it and slowly discovering this intricate art together with her, but he’s damn great at meaningful, healing silences, at never judging if she’s not ready to share and always listening if she is.

There’s balance between them, a sense of unspoken understanding, its edges rough and brittle, but its core undeniably solid. And it’s this balance that Jyn blames without hate for both conscious and not thoughts of some strange future, of recognizing that there’s at least a slim chance of making it through the war and overcoming whatever challenges they might face, together, her ghosts and fears be damned.

She wants it, so, so much, in whatever capacity she could snatch pieces of this impossible peace and never let them go. She wishes she could just demand it from the galaxy as payback for all the hardship it had put her through without feeling her heart fluttering in her chest akin to a caged bird, so eager to break to its freedom and so fundamentally out of sync with life outside of it.

Oh, yes, it’s safer not to ask anything, to let it slide, to simply wait for some kind of future to unfold and follow along with it. It happens to people regardless of their choices, there’s no escaping it, no slipping through the tides of time.

And this, right here, is a problem. Jyn knows pretty much everything about running and avoidance. She hasn’t spent her every moment on them ever since Saw left her behind, but she’s perfected their art, wielded them without a second thought to try to keep her status quo, to guard her little broken world from the devastating burn of the darker side of hope. Safer or not, it doesn’t feel right anymore.

And fear is… it’s important, it’s a thing not to be scoffed at. Fear is natural, vital, even. It’s an extension of a survival instinct, a shell that can protect from the devastating burn of hope maligned. But it can cripple too, for it doesn’t discriminate between kind heat and ruinous flame.

Jyn has lived a long time in fear. It never ever felt like home, no matter how hard she tried to hold on it and love it out of caution.

It takes an effort to build a future. It’s not enough for an idea to be born, it requires someone brave enough to breathe true life into it and let it thrive. Ideas can form in unison, but someone somewhere needs to step up and make it true.

Someone has to sacrifice fear in a blind leap of faith and hope for something new. 

Jyn is pretty sure that neither of them is even remotely ready to have a proper conversation about this, but they do have to start somewhere. She squeezes her eyes shut and dares to defy her fear. “Have you ever thought what life could be beyond this war?”

She feels it when the question ripples through every guard and anticipation Cassian is always approaching things with, when his body stills underneath hers and goes tense. She would’ve bolted away from this before Scarif and didn’t dare to look back at the charred remains of the bridges she’d burned. But she’s not alone anymore. Trust goes both ways. She didn’t believe in it when she said it first, not fully, but she does now when this trust has built a home around her wherever she goes.

Jyn firmly shoves away her knee-jerk instinct to run and chooses to face her obvious mistake. She squeezes her fingers around Cassian’s shoulder reassuringly and brushes her lips against his collarbone. “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me a thing.”

“Easier said than done,” he murmurs, one hand moving up to rest in between her shoulder blades, the other cupping the back of her head tenderly. “The Empire’s not an army, not an Emperor, not even people,” Cassian admits after a while, hesitantly and quietly as if he’s afraid too, as if he’s voicing these thoughts out loud for the very first time and they feel foreign, eternally damning on his tongue. “It’s an idea. And there’s always someone to follow the idea. It won’t just cease to exist when the Empire falls. The sparks will always remain: some will burn for the years to come, some will quietly fester, and some will hide in shadows only to strike again when time’s right. No matter how you look back at history, the only lesson it provides is that there’s always darkness that wants to devour light. The galaxy always needs someone to protect it, to fight for what’s right.”

It’s not a perfect answer. It’s pained and a little doomed and not at all a happily-ever-after that the galaxy still stubbornly clings to as to a conventional norm, to a some kind of an inspiring ideal. It’s rough-hewn, made up of more scars and darkness than light.

It fuses perfectly upon every seam of Jyn’s heart, a dear kind of balance, a truth that’s real and respectful.

It’s what she’d expect to hear from a child of Fest, from a descendant of the people who only ever wanted peace and instead were forced to become warriors all throughout their history over and over again, who came close to losing their culture and language, who endured through their own mistakes and periods of decadence, through invasions and oppressions, through slavery, conqueror-orchestrated famines, and genocides.

Slow and cautious, Jyn unwinds her arms from underneath Cassian, shifts aside just enough to rest her elbow against the mattress, push her weight upon it, and raise herself up to get a good look at Cassian’s face. He relaxes his hands immediately, keeping his touch light and ready to let go at any given moment. He doesn’t don his spy mask on. His lips set into a thin, tight line, his eyebrows furrowed, regret and apology saddening his eyes, he’s surely preparing for a blow, for rejection, and in the murky room with only dim emergency lights on, the impact of his expression is amplified tenfold.

Jyn huffs an uneven sigh ― eternally sad and yet shaking with a disbelieving chuckle. _One day_ , she hopes, _one day we both will learn to accept without question or a second thought that we’re worth all the care and devotion we gift each other despite the ghosts of our past_. “So you think you’ll stay a fighter?” she clarifies and reaches out to caress the lines of worry in the corner of his eye with her fingertips.

His eyes widen in surprise at her gentle touch. He seems to hold her breath for a while, startled and scrambling to process the fact that her reaction is not what he had anticipated at all. She meets his eyes and smiles softly. “I don’t know,” Cassian confesses absently, his hands flexing against Jyn’s back in utter loss. “It’s all I’ve really ever knew. I’ve got no idea how to live any other life. It’s… doable. Some people figure it out. I guess I can too, but…” he cuts off, open his mouth to continue and snaps it closed immediately, squeezing his eyes shut in desperate frustration. “Fighting is what I do best," he whispers. "And every time I’ve imagined walking away from it completely―”

“―it never felt right because it’s like trying to leave behind everything that you are. No matter what you do or how hard you try, there’s no escaping from yourself. We carry our past and present and future in unison, and each of them is tied to the two others.”

She sees the moment when his worry bleeds into shy but potent wonder, when his fear surrenders to a tiny spark of hope. She bites the inside of her lip when Cassian brushes her bangs away from her forehead and cups his hand around her jaw, his fingers resting beneath the shell of her ear and his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. “You're amazing. And I still can’t believe you’re here,” he murmurs, searching her face with unmasked reverence.

Jyn hums under her breath and indulges in brushing her lips against the edge of Cassian’s palm in a haste kiss. “With the Alliance? On Hoth? In your bed?”

Cassian laughs, a smile lighting up his entire face. “All of the above. But mostly in my life,” he admits and bumps his arm against Jyn’s elbow in an insistent hint. She settles back against his chest, closing her eyes in pleasure when his arms curl around her tightly in a loving embrace. “I’m working on it, though,” reassures her Cassian, tracing the shell of her ear with his fingertip. 

“Right back at you,” Jyn replies softly, relishing in the twin harmony of their heartbeats.

Sure, this casual intimacy is no kiss and more that she’s starting to yearn for in earnest, but it’s enough for here and now. It’s what Cassian clearly wants, what he’s comfortable with at this point, and she won’t let her impatience ruin their balance. It may take one person to be the bravest, but each of them must figure things out at their own pace and be mindful of one another.

She knows better than to believe blindly that anything is a given, that they’ll always have time. She’ll never be able to fully control what will happen tomorrow or any day away from here and now.

But she doesn’t feel like a leaf in a wind anymore ― directionless, adrift. For the first time in years her path through the darkness seems clear.

And it’s wrought from light. Hers, her new family’s, Cassian’s. Tattered and scarred and dim in many places, wrecked with fears and uncertainties, but light nevertheless.

Jyn could get used to it, and she fully intends to. And if it’s a real fancy ‘ _kriff off_ ’ she can offer to the galaxy with a vengeful, smug smirk, well, it’s a nice bonus.

**Author's Note:**

> The name 'Khram Tyshi' is a shameless borrowing from my native Ukrainian language and it indeed translates the way it is in the story. 
> 
> My headcanon for Fest's history in this particular story is based strongly on the experiences of people living in Eastern Europe during the darkest times of the twentieth century along with some echoes back to the Kievan Rus' period. Star Wars in its core is a commentary on certain real-life events, after all. 
> 
> The story is unbetaed, so any typos and mistakes are all mine.


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